Sweet Mother

One thousand times I have failed you
Folly in that notion of a mustard seed
This body wrought of insufficient faith
And this heart of pulp seems
covered over by Father stone
like asphalt redolent from the new smell of tar

Still this nascent string of undivided love
moves inside like the coil of a spring
brick by brick along the vertebrae of bone

What creature stirs in that eternal cavern?
I’ve no sense of justice
bitumen - a Red Sea of taillights incessant
dragging wastrel in the tortuous Highway

He was a man they said - that Lord -
called God in iron wrath who dangled
His creations on the tip toe of His Finger
Held in utter horror aghast over
that Lake of liquid fire - well I
never wanted that from start to finish
Fear ranks high among the qualities of survival.

Then they - saving grace over the ages
called It woman.
Oh hold at bay those night terrors
the jackal of sermon leaving white pellets of spittle on the mouth corner:

Wait. What fear is there of Mother?
Oh Dear - will you speak to Father for me?
He always seems to follow your command.

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